


Pomona Sprout and the Five Points from Hufflepuff

by pauraque



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: daily_deviant, Embarrassment Kink, F/F, Hypersensitivity, Kinky Kristmas Fest, Laughter Suppression, Light Dom/sub, Schoolgirls, Teasing, Teen Crush, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pomona loves Minerva with an unreasonable and embarrassing passion, but the silly Head Girl does have a way of driving her mad. Especially when she takes points off Hufflepuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pomona Sprout and the Five Points from Hufflepuff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [songquake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/songquake/gifts).



> Written to Songquake's prompts in the 2013 Kinky Kristmas fest at [Daily Deviant](http://daily-deviant.insanejournal.com). How excited was I that someone other than me wanted tickling kink?! Thanks to [Delphi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi) for beta-reading.

It was such a _little_ giggle, quickly stifled. Even the rabbit-eared old librarian Mr Merryweather didn't hear it.

But Minerva, blast her, did.

"The library," she proclaimed, standing over Pomona and her housemates in full Head Girl mode, solemn and imperious, "is for reading, not for giggling and messing about. Five points from Hufflepuff."

The girls to Pomona's right and left both groaned in protest, but a razor-sharp look from Minerva warned them not to make it ten points, and their mouths snapped shut.

As Minerva walked away, nose in the air and heels clicking on the hardwood floor, Bobbie rolled her eyes until they fluttered, and Honoria silently mock-gagged, pointing a finger to her mouth.

Pomona only simmered, her quill bending dangerously in the tightness of her grip as she copied down potions instructions with vengeful force. There had been no point in objecting, since she could hear already what Minerva would say: _I mustn't make exceptions just because we're friends._

*

Pomona had been in love with Minerva McGonagall since the first day she came to school, and she considered this an awful injustice. If it had been some other girl who made her heart pound so and her feet float off the ground like a first year botching a Levitation charm, then she could have been spending her time out of class kissing and playing about like Bobbie and Honoria did, instead of pining away like some stupid _boy_.

At dinner, Pomona stirred her soup irritably as she watched Minerva chatting to Professor Dumbledore, hands clasped behind her back, polite and proper. It was as though she expected at any moment to be assumed up into her rightful place at the High Table, little junior professor that she was. God, from this angle her arse looked incredible. Damn her.

Eyes narrowed, Pomona took a sip of her soup and accidentally slurped it loudly, prompting a burst of laughter around her and an elbow in her side from Bobbie. Pomona shoved her back, and when she turned round again, Minerva was looking at her, coming down from Olympus to walk amongst mere mortals once more.

"Oh, Pomona," she said lightly, as though pleasantly surprised to find her at the same table where she ate every meal every day, "are we going to work on our Herbology project this week-end?"

Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had Herbology together, and Pomona and Minerva had always made good partners at it. Minerva did all the writing, and Pomona did all the bits where you had to get your hands dirty.

Pomona muttered assent, and Minerva smiled her tight little smile, and Pomona couldn't breathe until she turned on her heel and walked away from them. Honoria, her face a mask of innocence across the table, kicked Pomona in the shin.

"Ow! What was _that_ for?" Pomona demanded, rubbing her leg beneath the table.

"As if you didn't know," Honoria said, fussily dumping another spoonful of sugar into her tea. "What on Earth do you _see_ in her?"

*

The truth was that Pomona's fascination with Minerva lay precisely in what she _didn't_ see. She wanted to find out what was under that goody-goody exterior, to see Minerva come down off her high horse and roll about in the muck with the other girls. Any little thing that broke through her seriousness excited Pomona. And Minerva did take herself terribly seriously — even when she sneezed, she looked stiffly embarrassed afterward, like a cat robbed of its dignity.

Late at night, unable to avoid hearing Bobbie and Honoria's muffled moans and sighs from behind the closed curtains of Honoria's bed, Pomona rubbed herself beneath her pyjamas and thought about Minerva losing control. As she often did, she replayed the well-worn memory of the day Minerva had tripped coming out of the greenhouse and gone sprawling out onto the grass, her robes all up round her legs and her books strewn about her, glasses askew… Pomona had helped her up, of course, but her heart had pounded like a drummer gone mad.

Pomona pressed both hands hard between her legs; her toes curled and she sucked in a breath through her teeth. Not for the first time, she wondered if she ought to be worried that this was the sort of thing she thought about. Shouldn't she be thinking of Minerva's chest or her quim or something normal like that?

Bobbie let out a ecstatic groan that began high and sharp, then withered down dramatically as if she was going to faint. Pomona's brow twitched in annoyance. She supposed she should want what her roommates had, but it seemed... too _easy_ , somehow.

Perhaps what she really liked about Minerva was that she was a challenge.

*

That Saturday afternoon, they found they had the greenhouse entirely to themselves. Their project wasn't actually due for a week and a half, but Minerva liked to get things finished early, and Pomona had grudgingly accepted the benefits of not leaving it all to the last moment. Benefits such as getting to do your work in peace and quiet, alone with the girl you fancied, who had not bothered with uniforms as it was the week-end, and was wearing a blouse with a skirt that showed much more of her long and glorious legs than you were used to seeing.

On top of that, the plants covered up most of the glass, making it seem perhaps even more private than it was, and allowing Pomona to pleasurably torture herself with the idea that something might happen other than finding out whether Puffskein droppings make good fertiliser for miniature cycad trees.

Pomona wiped the sweat from her brow as she clipped another sample from their tree, the heat of the greenhouse heavy all round them. She passed it to Minerva, who sat waiting patiently on the bench, her raven hair up in a bun like somebody's mum.

"The leaves are thicker than in the control," Minerva remarked, squishing the sample experimentally between two delicate fingers. Juice ran down the edge of the leaf and dripped onto the table. She set it down and brushed her fingertips against her palm as though to clean them off, and bent over the parchment, writing notes on their findings in her tiny, even hand. As Pomona watched, a bead of perspiration trickled from Minerva's hair down the long, pale nape of her neck.

"It really wasn't fair," Pomona blurted out boldly, unable to bear it anymore. "That you took points off me for giggling in the library, I mean. It wasn't my fault. Honoria Pratchett was tickling me under the table."

Minerva looked up, startled at the abrupt change of topic. She seemed to consider, and then said, "Well, she's in your House too, so Hufflepuff would have lost the points anyway." Her brow creased in a matronly concern that was absurd in a girl her age. "Though, really, you ought to learn to control yourself."

Pomona let out an unladylike snort. "What do you mean? Control myself while I'm being tickled? Nobody can do that. Not even you."

Her dignity thus challenged, Minerva straightened up and squared her narrow shoulders. "I'm sure I could," she said. But Pomona saw it: A flicker of uncertainty, there for a moment and then just as quickly hidden away, as she added a little too offhandedly, "I'm not at all ticklish, anyway."

As Minerva very deliberately busied herself over their notes, a grin spread broadly and inexorably across Pomona's face.

"Well, I am," Pomona said, her hand creeping across the few inches between them on the bench. Minerva acted as though she wasn't looking, but Pomona caught the nervous flash of a peripheral glance, and her throat moved in a swallow. "Dreadfully ticklish, actually. And that dratted Honoria…" The back of Pomona's hand brushed against the fabric of Minerva's skirt as she moved into position. "...was tickling me right _here_."

And on _here_ , she reached for Minerva's knee and stroked lightly across her bare skin.

Minerva did not laugh. Her hand jerked, her quill leaving a ragged streak of ink across the parchment, and then she held very still, her steely eyes accepting the challenge.

"No giggling in the greenhouse, now," Pomona teased softly, leaning in to draw her fingertips delicately up and down Minerva's shin, just barely touching.

Minerva drew in a breath and held it, pressing her lips together in a hard line. In hungry fascination, Pomona watched the tension in her face shift as different places along her leg were tickled, as she struggled against the smile that threatened at the corners of her lovely mouth. When Pomona wriggled her fingers upon the soft skin behind her knee, Minerva's legs jerked upward a bit as though her toes had suddenly curled inside her shoes.

"Not as easy as you thought, is it?" Pomona was startled at the trembling breathlessness of her own voice. Desire seemed to crackle like lightning through her fingertips everywhere she touched Minerva's skin, and it made her as recklessly courageous as a Gryffindor. She drew her hand up over Minerva's skirt and just under the bottom of her blouse.

When Pomona tickled her side, Minerva bit her lip with a whimper. Mercilessly Pomona snaked her other hand round to reach the other side too, now nearly embracing her as they sat side by side, Pomona's breast pressed against Minerva's arm.

"It's a good thing you're not ticklish," Pomona murmured in her ear, bringing her hands together and spidering them over Minerva's stomach, feeling the tense spasms of her muscles there as she struggled not to react. "It wouldn't do at all to have a ticklish Head Girl."

Letting go of her quill, Minerva grasped the table's edge with both hands, white-knuckled and shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Pomona's lips were close to Minerva's pinkening cheek, within a hairsbreadth of a kiss.

"Because you know, if you were ticklish, we could get away with _anything_ ," she said, dancing her fingertips up and down the warm skin of Minerva's belly beneath her blouse and flying high on their battle of wills. "Just imagine if we caught you where no teachers could see, and held you down and tickled you until you gave us as many points as we wanted…"

Minerva's back arched, her beautiful face contorted into something that was half suffering and half delight. Seeing Minerva look like that sent a jerk of desire through Pomona's body like the start of an Apparition. She could see the points of Minerva's nipples through her blouse, and her legs had come apart, making her look wanton in a way Pomona never would have dreamt Minerva could.

Pomona couldn't help it. She slipped her hands between Minerva's legs, beneath her skirt, and wriggled her fingers along her spread inner thighs. Perhaps it was the shock of it that broke Minerva's concentration, but when she touched her there, a giggle escaped Minerva's lips, girlish and uncontrolled. And once that happened, there was no shutting the floodgates: Minerva _laughed_ , long and loud and wild.

"No giggling!" Pomona crowed in flushed, joyous triumph, finding an almost orgasmic excitement in having bested Minerva at last. "No giggling in the greenhouse, you naughty girl!"

Minerva's laughter turned to a shriek when Pomona grabbed her knees again, and she tried half-heartedly to draw her legs away, up and over the bench, but instead managed to get caught in her skirt and ended up toppling onto the mossy earth of the greenhouse floor. Pomona followed after, still tickling anywhere she could reach.

"Haven't you any self-control? Haven't you—"

Pomona's breath stopped her in her throat, and her fingers stopped mid-tickle. Minerva's skirt had come up over her waist, and as she lay there still giggling, hands covering her face, Pomona could see that the gusset of her knickers was undeniably wet.

"Ooh, I see it all now," she said when she could breathe again, kneeling between Minerva's splayed legs and clapping her hands down on her own thighs in half-giddy delight. "You've got to act so prim and proper just so nobody finds out what a bad girl you _really_ are."

"Oh, Pomona, I've _wanted_ —" Minerva cried, and she didn't put a name to exactly _what_ it was she'd wanted, but Pomona had a fair idea. The Head Girl no longer looked proper at all, her eyes wide open with a pretty mixture of desire and uncertainty, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

With a cocky grin she couldn't have wiped off her face if she'd tried, Pomona flipped the edge of Minerva's skirt all the way up over her stomach and ducked her head down, making a quick line of light kisses up Minerva's soft inner thigh. Too light, perhaps, as another giggle burst from Minerva's lips and she writhed ticklishly. Not drawing away from Pomona, though, but edging closer to her, legs still spread wide.

"A bit sensitive, are you?" Pomona murmured, eyebrow raised. Watching Minerva's reactions carefully, she placed her palms firmly against her thighs, drawing them down hard and slow, leaving white hand-tracks on her skin that quickly re-pinkened in the greenhouse heat.

Another girl might have moaned. As for Minerva, she sucked in a breath and held it, raising her hips and twisting her hands tightly in the fabric of her blouse. She was perspiring, and Pomona's hand slipped and slid abruptly down to Minerva's knee, and when that happened, she jerked and laughed again; it was as if she'd held in so much laughter that now _everything_ tickled.

"You just can't stop giggling, can you, young lady?" Pomona scolded, undoing the first pearly button at the bottom of Minerva's blouse, then the next. "I'll have to go looking for some spots that _don't_ tickle — surely that'll be a shorter list?"

Minerva's mouth worked, but she couldn't seem to find words; instead she hastily began undoing her buttons from the top, and they both kept on until their hands met fumblingly in the middle and Minerva's blouse lay open, her modest little white brassiere exposed. There was absolutely nothing dirty about it; it was like something your mum would buy you. A hot wave of desire swept up from between Pomona's thighs, and for a moment she thought she was going to spend on the spot.

Holding Minerva's gaze, Pomona moved her hands up her body, drawn like a magnet to those sweetly, properly hidden tits. Minerva breathed shallowly through parted lips as Pomona rubbed her palms hungrily over the smooth fabric, madly aroused by the shape of her breasts beneath her hands, and by the crescents of dirt under her own fingernails contrasted against the clean whiteness. A wicked little tweak of Minerva's nipples, and the girl let out a sort of _squeak_ that Pomona would never have imagined could pass Minerva McGonagall's tongue.

Perhaps Minerva wouldn't have imagined it either, for her cheeks flushed pink, and Pomona recognised once more the tremble of suppressed laughter in her chest, the tightly fought-against smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Pomona let out a deliberately exaggerated sigh. "Oh, it's that again, is it? Trying to hold it in? We'll see about that…" Leaning in with a grin, heart racing with excitement, Pomona tickled Minerva's ribs just below her bra until she crumbled once more into hypersensitive giggles, gasping for air and pounding her feet on the ground. God, it wound her up to see Minerva this way, helplessly tormented beneath her fingertips.

"I think I see the trouble," Pomona said mock-thoughtfully, her tickles turning to sweet strokes down Minerva's sweat-damp flanks. "When you laugh you get embarrassed, and the more embarrassed you get, the more you laugh. Which I can't really blame you for. It _is_ awfully funny."

Lowering her chin, Minerva made an attempt at a severe look over the tops of her glasses, but it didn't have quite the same effect when lying on the ground with her blouse undone and her hair loose from her bun and tangled about her shoulders. Smiling, Pomona cupped her hand gently against Minerva's cheek; it surprised her how Minerva's gaze softened when she did that, how she brought her own hand up to Pomona's for a moment and pressed into her touch.

"I know just the thing," Pomona said, her throat going dry as her other hand dipped down to caress the waistband of Minerva's knickers, below her bunched-up skirt. "Something no-one could laugh about in a million years..." Her hand trembled as she passed over the cushion of Minerva's hair beneath the fabric, watching her wide, astonished eyes. Gently, Pomona stroked down the front of her knickers, and in between her legs.

Oh, Minerva didn't laugh then. A shudder ran through her slender frame, and she grasped Pomona's other hand almost desperately in both of hers, letting out a moan of pure desire. Pomona rubbed more firmly, exploring the shape of her through her sopping-wet knickers. They were both breathing hard, Minerva arching up for more and Pomona squeezing her own thighs together.

She didn't realise how close Minerva was until the girl's hands flew down to guide Pomona's, showing her how fast and how hard. It was deliciously shocking to see her that way, completely debauched and any thought of propriety utterly lost in her need. Minerva worked Pomona's hand against her, rocking her hips back and forth, head back and eyes closed. And as her cries rose to a climax, she finally came apart, completely apart for Pomona.

When she was finished, their eyes met over Minerva's shocked fingers covering her mouth. Pomona quirked an eyebrow, and Minerva collapsed into giggles again, curling onto her side in a ball.

Moving on instinct, Pomona lay down and wrapped her in an embrace from behind, holding her until the shudders of laughter and aftershocks of pleasure died away.

Bobbie and Honoria never did find out exactly how Hufflepuff got their five points back.


End file.
